“Kamala who is knocking at the door?” My aunt asked, while I was in Jhapa, Nepal recently in May. She began to drink water from the pot and took a long breath. “How can I know who is at the door?” I said.
I was cooking rice. I found no time to see that the wood was not burning because it was too wet. “Perhaps they are maternal uncle and cousin, who want to stay here for the night,” she said as she stepped down the stair carrying clothes, smiling at me.
A lovely song was being broadcast at that moment. “It is the time of worship to God. I have to arrange a lot,” she said, coming down the balcony. I was busy preparing tea. When I came down, my uncle introduced me to the guests. “She is Kamala, the middle daughter, expert in kitchen work, expert on study and writing poems, also sewing, knitting and what not” she said to my uncle.
The cousin was staring at me. I didn’t dare to look at them. It was not a new matter. I was a good poet for my parents. So many people would come to my house and listen my poems directly or indirectly. I was not in a mood to write an essay at this time. I always think about poems and arts.
While I served tea to the guest and my uncle, I dared to say, “Actually I am not what my uncle said. I am a learner and now I am learning to do. Please don’t believe my uncle. I have to learn a lot, how to write a good poem and become a famous poet.”
“What a lovely tea! Would you like to write a good poem on tea?” my uncle said to me without hesitation. “Writing more poems, with kindness, grown up stories always want their appreciation from others. When the eyes stop in front of books, they are ready to love them and dream to walk with them in the span of a whole life,” uncle further said to me. My heartbeat increased, and felt like it stopped.
Without taking a breath, I went to my room by the road. I stared at the rising moon which I wished to get into my palm. The sky was as blue as the ocean. It was as infinite as my imagination. It made me romantic. The sky was about to sleep. It will be better to shut exits and switch off lights while going to bed.
“Kamala, I am trying to show my feelings of life. It may not reflect my total feelings as I am doing it in a hurry. I wish you a happy new year as well as long and prosperous poetry life. I send you a lot of love for your poems. I had a little chance to chat with you. On the way, your poems were in my mind. Your style of writing poems, your lovely stories make me proud of you.” It was beyond my imagination that I got this in a letter from my uncle. “Now you are grown up with your writings.” My mother too wished me to publish a book from the day that I got my graduate result, she repeats it like a parrot. I have no answer to respond.
“I will be going to publish a book. It is not so easy for a woman to publish a book but nothing can stop me from publishing a book.” I replied with smiles in my eyes.
The struggle in life, study and the job were together helping me to acquire maturity as an independent woman and a good poet. Sometimes how difficult it is for me to lead a quite busy life. I cannot imagine even I could realize that it is not easy to attain full satisfaction on my poems.
I am now imagining the blue sky and the sea. I am composing a poem and I am listening to it. Even I cannot imagine it. In my view, everything changes but the change itself is never infinite and complete. I know life is the supreme truth but the truth too cannot facilitate the completeness of life.
I could not conclude my new poem as the ink in my pen ran out. I am anxious to conclude the poem. As soon as I complete the poem, I will post it to my uncle and my parents . I am out to throw the ink less pen and buy another new pen . At present I am walking in a mission to buy a new pen.
Efforts to Prevent Trafficking in Women & Girls – A Pre-Study for Media Activism (Media research). Two Stories collections. Her interests include philosophy, feminism, political, socio-economic and literature. She also is experienced in organizational and community development. She also published several stories, and poems.